


compendium

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, but not necessarily canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: a collection of domestic clayleb oneshots, set in xhorhaus. additional tags in separate chapter notes.part one: straight razor- caleb giving caduceus a shave after their morning showers (g/t)part two: anthurium- caleb and caduceus having a steamy evening together in the hot tub (explicit)part three: Her light upon your body- caduceus wondering if caleb is part of the wildmother's plan for him (g/t)part four: sleep like the dead / bedtime stories- caduceus discovering caleb asleep in the library (g)
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 13
Kudos: 118





	1. straight razor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fond of your beard,” The corners of Caleb’s mouth turn down as Caduceus stands in front of him after his shower, dressed in the lightest layer of his day clothes, hair cocooned loosely in a towel from the base of his neck down. Caleb is sat on the countertop, his hair more damp than wet now and slightly fluffy because of it, his towel semi-unspooled from his waist. Caduceus still has to bend down to meet his eyes, the scent of Caleb’s post-shave oil filling his nose, an oaken musk with hints of sandalwood and vanilla. “Why the change?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's probably a perfectly reasonable and canon explanation for caduceus not having a beard in his level ten design, but if there is, i haven't gotten to that part. so here's me trying to cope in the meantime.
> 
> [episode 62 spoilers]
> 
> rating: gen (maybe teen due to intimacy of characters?)  
> tags for this chapter: domestic fluff, established relationship, facial shaving

When settling into the house, they had initially decided upon bathing times largely separated by gender, save for a few exceptions: Nott, who immediately questioned why she couldn’t take a bath with her husband, with a stammering and vibrantly flush-cheeked Yeza at her side; Beau, who just didn’t give a shit; and Fjord, who preferred to keep to himself particularly when nude. It was a luxury in itself to have a reliable bathing source; the hot spring-like bath they had created was especially novel, but even the rainwater showers, with water heated and created as needed, were far above their usual standards. Those of them who had gone months without a regular cleaning routine had to ease themselves back into the habit again.

After overcoming the few inevitable awkward run-ins, the group had more or less acquired an understanding of each other’s bathtimes, or at least, the ability to shout a warning down the staircase before descending into the spa. Caleb, with his innate sense of morning despite the lack of natural sunlight, or perhaps kept awake till morning studying, was usually the first to shower. Once enlisting Caleb’s aid to get the timing right, charming the lights around the tree to fade at night and brighten again during the daytime, Caduceus found himself adjusting to a similar routine. He would rouse from his tree-side bed after a few minutes of morning prayer, then head downstairs to clean up before breakfast. Running into each other had become a part of their routines--Caduceus waiting at the top of the stairs while encountering Caleb mid-ascent, Caleb laying a hand atop his upon the banister in greeting. Caleb, already toweled off and dressed, loitering in the doorway of Caduceus’ preferred shower stall to stop him for a kiss. Caleb, showering in the stall next to Caduceus instead of the one opposite, both of them fully aware that Caduceus could look over the divider of paneled wood with ease, if asked. 

Caduceus, still in his bed clothes, has descended the stairs into a faintly humid air this morning. Caleb sits on a low stool at the rectangle mirror they had installed, a towel wrapped around his waist, the sconces they had mounted lit and filling the room with light. The countertop is close to the floor, too, jutting out from the wall just above his knees. The lower half of his face, save for his nose and lips, is covered with a soft white foam; the rectangular blade of his razor is pressed to his cheek, shearing a patch of foam away. His thumb rests atop the razor, while the deep violet handle, flecked with blacks and reds when studied up close, sticks out just so from the fit of his palm. His hair is still wet from his shower, falling between his shoulder blades and leading stray rivulets of water down his freckled back, save for a ginger strand plastered across his forehead. Caduceus nods a hello and walks past him, but stops en route to his stall, and turns back. 

“Would you mind giving me a shave, Mister Caleb?”

“I suppose not,” Caleb answers after carefully drawing the blade along his jaw. “Take your time first.” That makes Caduceus smile; Caleb will likely finish up before Caduceus has finished washing his hair, let alone the rest of his body.

“I’m fond of your beard,” The corners of Caleb’s mouth turn down as Caduceus stands in front of him after his shower, dressed in the lightest layer of his day clothes, hair cocooned loosely in a towel from the base of his neck down. Caleb is sat on the countertop, his hair more damp than wet now and slightly fluffy because of it, his towel semi-unspooled from his waist. Caduceus still has to bend down to meet his eyes, the scent of Caleb’s post-shave oil filling his nose, an oaken musk with hints of sandalwood and vanilla. “Why the change?”

“I feel like I’m getting a little,” Caduceus wrinkles his eyebrows to ponder the question; he had mostly asked on impulse before his shower, and smiles at himself for it. “Shaggy.”

“Ja, but you have that sort of way about you,” Caleb muses, guiding Caduceus’ chin one way, then another. “Not necessarily disheveled, but a little--distracted. I suppose you are starting to look a little unkempt, but you are still handsome.”

Caduceus closes his eyes and laughs in his low, humble way. “That was certainly unintentional.”

“And yet you achieved it,” Caduceus feels Caleb smile as he pecks a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He opens his eyes to Caleb placing both his hands on his cheeks, his bare chest expanding with a deep inhale, and falling with an exhale. There’s a hint of a smile fading from his lips, not quite into sadness, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes.

“I’m fond of your beard,” He repeats, pressing his face up into the scruff along Caduceus’ jaw. “Let me say goodbye first.” Caduceus rumbles a noise in his chest, leaning down for Caleb, smoothing his hair with his hand. Caleb’s fingernails drag over the hairs on one cheek; he maps the other side of Caduceus’ face with meandering kisses.

“Okay,” He sighs after a moment, easing himself down from the counter and retying the towel at his waist. “Go on, sit.”

Caduceus sits himself down on the stool, stretching his legs out to accommodate for the closeness to the ground. He rolls his shoulders to shake off his almost automatic slouch, sitting up straighter to watch as Caleb runs the blade along the length of a wide leather strap, rotating it along the spine, and pulls the blade back towards him. He repeats the action once, twice, another time after that.

“I could always keep the beard--” Caduceus begins to offer before Caleb interjects.

“No, it’s your decision. I can handle it.”

“Hey,” Caduceus touches Caleb’s forearm, taking his wrist and pressing the heel of his hand to his upper cheek. He smiles. “I’ll still be fuzzy.” Caleb smiles, his fingertips lingering on Caduceus’ cheek before pulling away. 

“You ought to be going to a barber,” Caleb murmurs distractedly, leaning over Caduceus now, starting to brush the cool lather over his cheeks and jaw, and a little ways down his neck. “I don’t want Fjord or Beauregard getting any ideas.”

“A human, a half-orc, and a firbolg walk into a drow barbershop,” Caduceus grins. “Do we want to learn the punchline to that one?” Caleb hums a short laugh in his throat.

“I think not. It’s just that, this is going to be an all-or-nothing decision--unless you decide you look good with a half-shaven face. You are sure you want to go through with this?”

“It’ll still grow back if I don’t like it.” Caduceus closes his eyes, inclining his head. “I’m all yours.”

“Aren’t you always,” Caleb whispers, then clicks his tongue. “Don’t smile.” He adds, though Caduceus has to fight the urge when he hears the smile in Caleb’s voice.

Caleb crouches in front of him, fingertips first pressing to the skin by Caduceus’ ear and pushing it up slightly, pulling the blade down in quick, short strokes. Caduceus feels the cool blade on his skin, and a slight tugging as Caleb begins to shave his beard away. He feels he has to keep his eyes closed--there’s a likelihood of them getting distracted otherwise--but he finds a meditative quality to the process, the soft sound of Caleb’s breathing and the occasional word he’ll murmur under his breath, close enough for Caduceus to feel the warmth on his skin. Then there’s the subtle minty smell of the lather; the bars of soap are communal, though Caduceus couldn’t really categorize a “neutral” scent if asked--Jester had picked out the same shampoo for him and Yasha to share, one that smells like a bouquet of wildflowers--and his own scent is mixing with Caleb’s in such close quarters. There’s the rhythmic little scratch of the razor, the small splash of water when Caleb turns to clean the blade, the slow massage of Caleb gently pressing and pulling at spots of skin much softer than they were seconds before. He has to blink his eyes open at a point when Caleb turns away, blocking his view of himself in the mirror, to touch a freshly shaven part of his jaw. His skin already feels cooler, lighter. He lifts an eyebrow when Caleb turns back to him.

“How do I look?”

“A little patchy,” Caleb smiles. “I need to sharpen the blade again, do a second pass.” He exhales, lowering his voice. “Still dangerously handsome.”

“Oh?” Caduceus blinks, smile tugging at his lip. “I thought I was just regular handsome before.”

“No, you were dangerous then, too.” Caleb answers in a strained voice. “This is just a different perspective.” Caduceus watches as Caleb leans back against the counter, looking up at the ceiling, Adam's apple bobbing with a swallow, air spilling out of him like coins out from a split pouch. He exhales again, sharper, and turns back to the strap of leather on the counter, scraping the blade back and forth over it. After a few minutes, he leans back over Caduceus, brushing another coat of the lather onto his skin.

“Back to business, shall we?”

The rhythm resumes, soothing still, but with a different cadence as Caduceus starts to feel a low, buzzing impatience in himself--a growl of hunger for breakfast in his stomach, echoed in Caleb’s, a laugh shared between them, a sting of pain when Caleb nicks him with the blade, though that’s easily quieted with a touch of his own finger. This pass feels both fast and slow, the razor gliding more easily over the remaining stubble, He watches from under his eyelashes when Caleb has him tilt his head back, shaving the shorter, scratchy hairs that had started to sprout on his neck, catching a glimpse of the slight furrow of concentration in Caleb’s brow, a studious frown on his lips. It fades when he rises, taking Caduceus’ chin in his hand and inspecting him for any spots he might have missed. But after that, he takes the bundle of Caduceus’ hair in hand and dabs at his face with the towel, then places the razor on the counter, circling around Caduceus and clamping his hands down just before his shoulders.

“Happy?”

“Wow.” Caduceus runs his hand over his jaw, turning his head to look at himself from different angles in the mirror. “I look younger.”

“You are already young,” Caleb chides, kissing the top of Caduceus’ head. He leans down further, arms loosely falling around Caduceus’ neck, nosing the base of his ear. “You look _dashing_ ,” He whispers in his insistent, knowing way, meeting Caduceus’ gaze in the mirror and trying to fix him there. Caduceus tilts his head shyly, wordlessly toward Caleb. It’s not that he doesn’t believe him, or means to diminish his comments; it’s just a learning curve, this kind of straightforward praise and attraction--and Caleb meets him where he’s at, nuzzling into his cheek. He presses closer to Caduceus, reaching around to grab the uncorked bottle on the counter, and dabs the familiar oaky scent into his palm, rubbing the oil into Caduceus’ skin. 

“You may want to go out with Jester, find an apothecary we haven’t fallen out of favor with, find a scent you feel is more suited to you,” Caleb suggests. ”But this will help your skin for now.”

“Thank you, Mister Caleb.” Caduceus smiles, leaning into Caleb’s touch. “I ought to go make you--and the others--breakfast, as a favor.”

“After gifting me with a morning of getting to be face to face with you, I might be the one who owes you thanks,” Caleb counters, his lip curling up as he moves in front of Caduceus again, caressing his jaw. He starts to tilt his head, and the stool clatters away as Caduceus rises to meet him, their kisses lingering on each other’s lips, neither of them entirely willing to pull away. 

“Go,” Caleb finally shoos Caduceus away with a gentle push, though still smiling. “Let me sharpen my blade and get dressed. I will have you for breakfast another day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used two whole videos for reference because i have never shaved my face or anyone else's before
> 
> [shaving with a straight razor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dnI6XR-hvJs)
> 
> and an intro to [stropping](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mVjU1f0lye0)
> 
> so, i got to episode 62, and i got PUMPED to write some domestic clayleb, despite me being trapped at home for weeks on end. i'm currently on episode 64 and honestly, would not be surprised if the nein just get yeeted back into the empire. but i have a good three or four solid ideas, so follow along, if you'd like? :)


	2. anthurium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To our productive, largely uneventful days,” Caleb murmurs, touching his forehead to Caduceus’. He cups his cheeks, teasing the thread of want where their lips are just a fraction apart, before kissing Caduceus. There’s a certain spark in Caleb’s kisses tonight, where Caduceus can feel the smile brimming at his lips, the soft laugh in between breaths, the pressure of his fingertips on his skin, and Caduceus is thrilled to chase that joy, their kisses deepening, laughter turning into gasps and throatier noises, panting, Caduceus dropping the usual prefix when he whimpers Caleb’s name. 
> 
> “Clay,” Caleb answers, pulling back to meet Caduceus’ eyes. “Will you blossom for me tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can't call it the Mollymauk Tealeaf Spa without having a little debauchery
> 
> tags: explicit, frottage, blowjobs, shower sex, semi-public sex, unusual anatomy
> 
> this chapter is nsfw and caduceus' atypical anatomy (sheath) is inspired by the first chapter of this [caduceus masturbation fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762245/chapters/57074770). i hope that's not too weird? he has a dick, it just hides away when he's not horny lol

After living on his own for some time, Caduceus had developed some degree of innovation when needing to make little household fixes, though maintaining his family home and temple paled in comparison to the pride he felt when creating the stone tub downstairs with Jester. He had shaped the stone according to her direction, her imagination and experience with more of the finer material objects in life--most of the inspiration came from her, really--but it still felt good, working with his hands, casting the spells that helped heat and circulate the bubbling water inside. Sinking into the massaging pressure of the water, after a long day’s travel or coming home from a fight, mostly healed but spent and sore, always felt soothing on his aching body. It felt soothing in the mundane moments, too, when the group crammed themselves into the tub to socialize, passing around tankards of ale and bottles of wine, Caduceus keeping to the mushroomy tea he had started to brew in a barrel in the kitchen. 

Caduceus is fond of those moments, reminded of what it’s like to be surrounded by a rowdy family, bringing him a feeling of cheer, and yet an ache deep in his heart, because his own family is still out of reach, still connected to him but fading, like a piece of parchment accidentally left in the sun. He had excused himself early, that first night, chalking it up to a long day and the steam in the room, even with Nott and Jester protesting, Yasha looking as if she was tempted to follow up on his escape, the other three quiet but seemingly eyeing him over their ale. That part about the steam felt true, coming from the north as he had; walking back up to the fresh air had helped clear his mind, and both ease and stir his passion for his mission. Sniffling under the shade of the tree, he had lifted his head to Frumpkin’s amber eyes glinting in the doorway.

“Hey, buddy,” He had said, mustering a poor attempt at a chuckle. “Didn’t see you there.” 

He had stretched out his hand, and Frumpkin padded across the way, sniffing at his fingertips before pushing his head into his palm for pets and scratches. Caduceus had obliged until the point Frumpkin had flopped onto his side, his purr vibrating loudly amongst the nightly chirp of a cricket or two. 

“Are you feeling well?” Caleb’s voice had inquired softly in his ear a little while later, Frumpkin dozing at Caduceus’ side. There was a pause. “You don’t have to respond if you aren’t feeling up to it.”

“I am feeling...content,” Caduceus answered, in his own time. “I’m thankful for the company you sent after me.”

“I do not recall sending company after you,” Caleb commented, his voice pitching slightly in the way Caduceus remembered him using when he meant to sound oblivious, and that had made Caduceus smile. “Yasha exited after you did, less gracefully, perhaps, but we are all a little drunk, and thus forgiving, so no harm done.”

There was another pause, long enough for Caduceus to think Caleb had returned to the tub, or perhaps to his quarters, but a few more of Caleb’s words fell upon his ears.

“I would prefer to not wake a sleeping cat.”

Those group gatherings had become less intimidating when they happened organically, savoring good health or success, or just socializing out of boredom. Caduceus had carved out his own occasional evenings in the tub as well, relaxing in the humidity and sinking down to his chin in the water, his toes still about another calf’s length from reaching the opposite side, lazily working through his thoughts, or letting them drift by without paying them much attention.

Sounds of footsteps from the bath’s entryway make him stir from his semi-meditative state, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, sitting up straight and mopping a wet hand over his face to try and wake himself. 

“Give me a minute,” He calls out. “I’m not decent.”

“Oh, but that is my favorite way to have you,” answers the accented voice, and Caduceus is already smiling when he turns to look over his shoulder at Caleb, who has a hand pressed to the violet woodgrain of the wall, beginning to kick off his boots, his outer jackets presumably shed upstairs. Caduceus settles back into the water, his back to the rounded stone corner, arms propped up on the sides of the tub, about twice the width of his forearm. He listens to the quiet rustle of Caleb taking off his turtleneck and trousers, the gentle creak of the wooden platform that leads up to the tub, watching the current swirl when Caleb descends down the stone steps into the water. The water hits him about mid-thigh, and he is nude as well, his hair tied at the back of his head, though some locks still fall to frame his face. He stands pensive for a moment as he scans the tub, hand on his hip, and then wades over to Caduceus, nestling between his legs and looping his arms around his neck, resting his cheek on Caduceus’ chest. Caduceus tilts his head following the direction of Caleb’s and lifts a hand, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone.

“Have we had a very good day, Mister Caleb?”

“Very much so,” Caleb murmurs, eyes closed, leaning into Caduceus’ touch. “Our floaty friend has taught me a new Dunamantic spell. One that slows time, just briefly; I am still working out the details, but there is always tomorrow for that.” He blinks, meeting Caduceus’ gaze. “What of you, Mister Clay?”

“Well, it seems to be a relatively calm time right now--as calm as wartime can be, I suppose--so I went out shopping for some perishables. Yaha got into a pretty animated conversation with a butcher,” Caduceus recounts, grinning as he remembers. “Apparently there was an extensive catalog of Xhorhasian animals to choose from. I think you’ll be eating from the more luxurious end of them.”

“Mm, it’s a shame for our stomachs that you won’t be able to prepare them for us,” Caleb comments, kissing Caduceus’ palm. “Did you treat yourself as well, to the more luxurious end of things?”

“You know I try to be frugal,” Caduceus acknowledges with a bashful smile, sinking down until the water hits his collarbones, and Caleb shifts up, his knee upon Caduceus’ thigh to get some leverage on him. “But some of the drow grocers--ones that have gone through a life or two, or aspire to--are trying their hand at meat substitutes. All natural, they claim; I have a feeling some may be better than others, but the one I made for dinner wasn’t all that bad.”

“Was that the one you made for all of us tonight?” Caleb asks, eyebrow lifted as Caduceus tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, turning to let his lips brush over Caduceus’ fingers as his hand falls away. “I have to laud your culinary talents; I wouldn’t have known the difference.” 

“To our productive, largely uneventful days,” Caleb murmurs, touching his forehead to Caduceus’. He cups his cheeks, teasing the thread of want where their lips are just a fraction apart, before kissing Caduceus. There’s a certain spark in Caleb’s kisses tonight, where Caduceus can feel the smile brimming at his lips, the soft laugh in between breaths, the pressure of his fingertips on his skin, and Caduceus is thrilled to chase that joy, their kisses deepening, laughter turning into gasps and throatier noises, panting, Caduceus dropping the usual prefix when he whimpers Caleb’s name. 

“Clay,” Caleb answers, pulling back to meet Caduceus’ eyes. “Will you blossom for me tonight?”

His fingers trail along Caduceus’ jawline, down his neck, following the shallow divot in his chest, gliding over his stomach and tracing the line of hair below his navel to, the image slightly distorted by the water, the rose pink head of his cock, already peeking out from the folds of gray skin at his groin. Caduceus’ breath hitches when Caleb touches him, his finger stroking his slit, thumb tracing his cock head, pushing at the fold of his skin just briefly. The flesh of his cock is soft like Caleb’s own, the fruit under his peach-fuzz skin stripped bare, Caduceus takes Caleb’s chin in his hand and guides him close again, sighing into his mouth when Caleb moves his hand from his genitals, a small mercy, to cup his balls underneath. He slips his hands around to Caleb’s back, clasping him to his chest for more kisses, and Caleb obliges, kissing and sucking and biting at Caduceus’ lips, making satisfied noises and whispering little praises when Caduceus returns the favor. Hot breaths spilling across each other’s features, Caduceus takes his moment to pause and press his hand to Caleb’s chest, letting it drift down his chest, his stomach. He closes his fingers loosely around Caleb’s cock, which has started to stiffen with a gentle curve, the little circle of skin around his cock head drawn back; Caleb pushes his hips into Caduceus’ touch.

“I feel--” Caduceus gasps, “--you always get here more quickly--than I do--even though--”

“You are more sensitive than I,” Caleb completes the thought. “I may have a slight anatomical advantage over you,” He quips, a grin flitting at his lips, and leans in, sucking at Caduceus’ jawline.

“But the idea of arousing you,” Caleb continues, kissing up to Caduceus’ earlobe. “The idea that you are willing to let me see you like this--that you _want_ it--is enough to arouse me, Caduceus.”

The honesty of Caleb’s words, or the flirtation of it--or both--is enough to make Caduceus whimper, his face already heated. His cock has grown taller, near matching the length of Caleb’s, pink skin lightening into white. Caleb smiles and gently pries Caduceus’ fingers away from himself, only to press his cock to Caduceus’ arousal, wrapping his fingers around the both of them. The friction and the heat that Caleb squeezing and rubbing at their cocks brings, even underwater, makes Caduceus crane his neck backward, his breath escaping him in a moan. He watches Caleb’s hand for a moment, then brings his hand to the other side, stroking their cocks with a similar rhythm. 

“This is a public space,” Caduceus finally gulps, fingers wrapping around Caleb’s wrist. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

“We can make adjustments,” Caleb prompts impatiently, eyes wide. He pats the stone edge of the tub. “Come. Sit up here.” 

Caduceus hoists himself up and back onto the smooth stone expanse, and Caleb moves into the space where he was sitting, starting to kiss along Caduceus’ thigh, gently squeezing and pumping his cock, and all Caduceus can do is meekly whimper and rest his elbow on his knee, his forehead in his palm. He can feel the throb of his own cock in Caleb’s hand, his thighs quivering under Caleb’s lips, the skin on his lower abdomen growing taut with the full emergence of his arousal, the pink head matching the tip of his nose, brightening into white towards the middle of the shaft, and fading back into the gray of his skin at the base. Caleb has already kissed far into his inner thigh, lingering there, panting with want, looking up at Caduceus. 

“Please,” He whispers above the hum of the water, and Caduceus covers his face with both of his hands, nodding, because yes, _yes_ , he wants to be wanted like this, by any and every way by Caleb. He clamps his hand over his mouth as Caleb presses his lips to the base of his cock, kissing and licking at the least sensitive part of him first, though it still makes heat surge in the pit of Caduceus’ stomach. Caleb kisses upwards slowly, sucking at the middle of his shaft, keeping his eyes locked with Caduceus for a moment, then concentrating on his cock the next. His tongue is a vibrant pink against the pale middle of Caduceus’ shaft, but almost matching in color to the head that he kisses up to, pausing just below it, eyes flicking to the semi-opaque liquid pearling at Caduceus’ slit. He looks up, and lifts his hand, gently prying Caduceus’ fingers away from his mouth and tangling them with his.

Caleb has never thought himself to be a particularly delicate man, but his kisses are feather-light over the throbbing head of Caduceus’ cock, the gentle swipe of his tongue of his slit, the taste of him far less briny and a little more sweet than most, the way he feels as if he might have cast a spell on the both of them, seconds moving by achingly slow as he takes the full head of Caduceus’ cock into his mouth. There is room for more of him--not all of him, though his shaft does taper a little towards the tip--but this is enough, the full-body shudder that overcomes Caduceus when Caleb sucks on his most sensitive part, squeezing his hand as if in a vice, Caleb instinctively gripping his thigh to keep him steady. Caleb keeps his lips there, sucking and kissing at the head of Caduceus’ cock, reveling in the feeling of his irresistibly soft flesh in his mouth, the heat and the way he throbs with want, the noises Caduceus makes and his wordless actions, the back of his own hand pressed to his head as Caduceus tries to thread his fingers into his hair. More of Caduceus is leaking into his mouth, mixing with his saliva, and he still kisses his slit, placating, before he swallows and gasps for air. He rises from the tub, taking Caduceus’ cheeks in his hands, Caduceus’ breathing rapid and shallow, his forehead wrinkling, his pupils wide, a whine coming from parted lips.

“I could drink you down,” Caleb murmurs reassuringly, hand smoothing over the shorter hairs on the side of Caduceus’ head. “But I am afraid I will be the one who ultimately debases this bath, if you let me,” He admits with a soft laugh, his cock flush against Caduceus’ skin. 

“I’d forgive you,” Caduceus chokes out, and that makes Caleb grin, kissing Caduceus’ cheek hard before he sinks back down with a splash. He takes Caduceus back into his mouth--more of him this time, the most he can accommodate--and bobs his head along his length, letting some of the gentleness recede, both wanting to draw this out and eager to have Caduceus come undone. And he does, trembling, groaning louder before bucking his hips and filling Caleb’s mouth with thick, hot liquid. It makes Caleb cough, but he eases back from Caduceus, careful to not spill before he can tilt his head back and swallow. He returns to lick tenderly at Caduceus’ cock, which has yet to retreat back, and rubs at Caduceus’ thigh.

“You do not owe me any forgiveness,” Caleb tells Caduceus when his breathing is a little less shallow. “But I would like to ask you a favor--that we go to the showers, and you let me put my cock inside you.”

“I find those terms agreeable,” Caduceus smiles hazily, and swings his leg, then the other, over the side of the tub; Caleb follows. He turns, carefully walking backwards into the stall, the stone floor dry underfoot. Caleb raises an eyebrow curiously, but does not question Caduceus, who is savoring the few moments where he can admire Caleb’s body the way Caleb does his; the piercing blue of his eyes and the cutting line of his jaw, his lips a touch swollen after having Caduceus in his mouth, his slender frame muscled vaguely, the light spread of hair on his chest and down his stomach, which still has the slightest pouch of fat. Caduceus is still new to appreciating his own body; he sometimes forgets to do the same for Caleb, but at least it’s a chance to make up the slack. By the time Caleb has reached him, he has walked Caduceus back against the wall, pulling the cord that starts a trickle, then a steadier, but still finite stream of water spitting out from a spout in the wall just above Caduceus’ shoulder. Caleb places a kiss in the center of Caduceus’ chest, heartbeat thrumming under his lips.

Caduceus leans down so Caleb can kiss him, but Caleb has an advantage at this level, his hand dragging down Caduceus’ cock and slipping between his thighs, a finger deftly sliding back and tracing his rim, then gently hooking inside him. Caduceus is caught a little off-guard, and he takes a second to breathe, relaxing his muscles. When he does, Caleb pushes deeper inside, Caduceus sighing into his mouth, Caleb stroking him slowly, gently, murmuring praises to him at the way he quivers under Caleb’s touch. His muscles give way to a little more pliability after a few minutes, and Caleb pushes a second finger inside Caduceus, working a gentle scissor of his fingers, curling them, turning his wrist and humming at the satisfying heat of Caduceus’ body, Caduceus’ hands clasping at his back, Caleb’s free hand fixed upon his waist. Caduceus takes a tentative step, then slowly backs into the corner of the stall. Caleb gingerly slips his free hand under Caduceus’ thigh, and Caduceus hitches his leg up around Caleb’s waist, his heel pressing into the small of Caleb’s back.

“No--this is silly,” Caleb laughs quietly. “Why must you blueball me in the best way?” He sighs, exasperated but still smiling, fitting the tip of a third finger inside Caduceus, who proves to be accommodating. Having Caduceus press up against the wall does take some of the burden off of Caleb but he quickly finds himself panting, and not entirely out of want. He eases Caduceus’ leg back down, whose thighs still tremble with both feet on the floor, and guides him under the water, cool compared to the tub but not cold. Caleb carefully draws his fingers from Caduceus, and Caduceus turns to face the wall, but Caleb wraps his arms around him and kisses his back before stepping away, making room for Caduceus to bend at the waist.

Caduceus gives little resistance as Caleb pushes his cock inside him, all of him, all at once; it’s Caleb who groans at the way Caduceus feels around him, who’d been craving and salivating at the thought of being inside Caduceus, the intense heat of him, his muscles tight around his cock, and thinking, maybe, maybe, he could just stand here and wait for Caduceus’ body to work an orgasm out of him--but patience is a virtue that Caleb sometimes sets aside. He pulls back, then thrusts again into Caduceus, into the rhythm of fucking him, slow and steady thrusts, hands gripping Caduceus’ hips to steady him. His gaze drifts, watching the way Caduceus stretches with his thrusts, of course, but also the slight curve of his ass--Caleb does find it funny, the way the both of them have such little body fat, a joke that Caduceus may not understand; but at least he has let Caleb kiss his skin, and he is soft there, too. There’s the water falling upon his back, the arch of his spine when Caleb hits him with a deep thrust, his fingernails braced against the wall, the moans and whimpers from him obscured somewhat by the noise of the water and the distance between Caduceus’ mouth and Caleb’s ears. (To have Caduceus sat upon his lap, moaning and breathing and writhing, his lips within kissing distance--that is another experience in itself.) 

But this, even with its drawbacks, is still more than satisfactory for Caleb. He can still reach around and stroke the soft yet firm flesh of Caduceus’ cock, tease him and pump him and ultimately make him cry out above the sound of the water, coming partly into Caleb’s hand and onto the floor, shaking as his cock finally, slowly retreats, Caleb still touching and rubbing and murmuring mixed praise and fascination until it is just a bud of sensitive flesh at his groin again. The way Caduceus comes though, his body seizing tight for a moment, toes curling, only makes Caleb burn brighter with the excitement to spill inside Caduceus the same way, and so he fucks him a little rougher, a little faster, until he, too, comes, hot and wet and tingling with pleasure that almost numbs him. The sensation lingers even as he pulls out of Caduceus, their words intermingling as they embrace under the slowing waterfall, sensual and spirited and joyful, kissing what expanses of skin they can reach until Caduceus finally holds him, both of them needing the touch of the other’s lips on their own.

“You were wonderful,” Caleb gushes while on tiptoe, kissing Caduceus hard on the lips, then softer, the both of them breaking apart because they keep falling into smiles. They clean each other under the water, both still tender and stray touches still making each other shiver, The shower water finally slows to a trickle, and then a few odd droplets before going dry. Caleb inhales Caduceus’ scent deeply, smelling of soap, but still faintly of his own sweat; he probably smells the same to Caduceus, and he hungers for that on some level, separate individuals, but still sharing this moment.

They dry off in the open area by the tub, a comfortable silence settling between them after Caleb has a final moment of playfulness, looping his towel around Caduceus’ head and reaching up, toweling his hair with a grin. Caduceus resigns himself to it with his usual lax smile, his hair damp and rumpled when he finally lifts his hand to knock the towel away. Caleb finishes drying himself first, wrapping his towel around his waist, bundling his own clothes up in his arms. Caduceus, still in the midst of drying off, watches with a smile as Caleb starts to gather his clothes, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to troye sivan's bloom (2018) for being a great no-skip album (at least for writing clayleb porn)


	3. Her light falling upon your body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He is cautious, yet brave; reserved, yet ambitious. Studious, yet not ignorant of the responsibility that comes with knowledge, and power. I have found him, among this group of friends, and I still have much to carry out before I go home. And while I realize this may be premature--I have fantasies of bringing him back with me. Or perhaps--being brave enough to accompany him somewhere new. Is that--" Caduceus feels the far-off crease of his brow. "Is that part of my journey? To find myself the right person?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever catch feelings and have sex before marriage and then some, and yknow, pray about it? (no shame)
> 
> tags: spiritual experiences, prayer, crisis of faith, falling In love, confessions

There has yet to be an outright declaration of love. 

If Caduceus were a smarter man, this may cause him reason to worry, but he is smart enough to know he is not stupid. He can recognize affection, and want, the way Caleb’s eyes meet his whenever he enters the room, gaze traveling up and down and lingering on Caduceus’ body, the smile that often spreads across Caleb’s lips, even when that smile is partly obscured by his hand upon his chin. There are Caleb’s kisses, his touches, the words he uses to address Caduceus when they have fallen behind the party for a moment or two, or when they are alone together on purpose--no outright declaration of love, no, but Caduceus can recognize the components that make up the emotion, or something certainly shaped a lot like it.

It’s a little bit the fondness he feels towards his family and remembering the fullness in his heart when they were together, and a pinch of the ache he feels thinking of them now. It’s partly the uncertainty and the warmth of that came with accompanying and being accepted into this new group of friends. It’s a fragment of selfishness, and selflessness, helping them accomplish their goals while they also inch towards his. It’s the little spark he feels when Fjord asks him about the Wildmother, and he gets to teach, and guide, and experience Her though a new set of eyes. 

Caduceus is feeling those emotions all cobbled together when it comes to Caleb, and some newer feelings, mostly physical--his skin tingling lightly like the distant buzz of a honeybee when he and Caleb make eye contact; at other times, touching each other, his mind and body brim with pleasure intense as a hot spring bursting into a geyser--and that comparison is rather apt for the end result. 

He imagines that those physical and emotional sensations cannot even match a fraction of the feeling of exaltation with the Wildmother; which in itself is not necessarily something that Caduceus is chasing. But he can only guess is slow-going, like a seed being planted, watered by Her rain and warmed by Her sun, weathering Her seasons to finally blossom into a flower--or perhaps, the familiar process of a body decaying, slowly returning to Her earth and feeding the new forms of life She brings into the world. But that idea also brings doubt, and doubt is like a weed; it can either brighten up a garden, or destroy it.

And so Caduceus finds himself studying Caleb in the morning light, unique in the way that the morning light is absent yet again from Rosohna. A dim street lamp tries to push its way through the closed curtains from the outside, but Caleb’s bedroom is largely dark otherwise, lamp light long extinguished. Caduceus has a sense that it’s morning because he feels rested, save for a cramp in his legs from contorting himself into a bed smaller than preferred. His back aches a little less, making up for the lack of support in the hammock he’d set up by the base of the tree on the roof; he supposes it’s a fair trade. He expects Caleb will be waking shortly himself, and can feel sleep enticing him back, tempting and tugging at his eyelids, a job not quite finished. But as Caduceus blinks, his eyes adjusting to the darker shades of blue and black of the pseudo-night, he finds a line of light falling upon Caleb’s cheek from a gap in the curtains. He traces it with his finger, down to the stubble on Caleb’s chin, and then his hands trail past that, down his neck to his chest, pausing atop the steady pulse of his heart. Caduceus’ eyelids droop, and his breathing starts to deepen, a slow, repeating loop of inhale and exhale, almost as if he is truly about to fall back asleep--but he retains a hint of consciousness within that steady rhythm.

“I know You are always with me--in the dirt and stone of the roads, in the animals in the markets, in the moisture in the sky--in my faith,” Caduceus smiles, laughs softly at the beginning of his prayer. “I know this, and yet I cannot help feeling like I should apologize. I feel distant from You in this city, far from the woods and my home, obscured from Your sun. But I want to talk to you about this one," He segues, the familiar warmth of the Wildmother starting to envelop him, centered by the focus of Caleb's heartbeat. The beating grows distant, but his mind feels free, and the words that follow seem to be tumbling a little clumsily, but also a little more clearly, from a place he had yet to reach.

"He is cautious, yet brave; reserved, yet ambitious. Studious, yet not ignorant of the responsibility that comes with knowledge, and power. I have found him, among this group of friends, and I still have much to carry out before I go home. And while I realize this may be premature--I have fantasies of bringing him back with me. Or perhaps--being brave enough to accompany him somewhere new. Is that--" Caduceus feels the far-off crease of his brow. "Is that part of my journey? To find myself the right person?"

Out of the comfort of the Wildmother's warmth comes the sensation of a hand upon his shoulders, as if to pull him into a pair of welcoming arms. But her hand does not guide him one way or another; it simply rests upon his shoulder, a delicate touch.

“My Clay, you talk as if this man is a permanent deviation from your path," Melora's laugh rings in his ear knowingly, as if teasing him--perhaps She _is_ teasing him, like an older sibling telling him a joke he doesn’t understand, and withholding the reason for humor behind the punchline. Still, there is a lapse, a pause where Caduceus simply languishes in Her presence, in the blue-skied, summer sun of Her warmth, and he does not feel guilty for it.

“I trust you will fulfill your duty to Me and your family at your soonest expediency--and trust that time moves differently for you than it does for Me,” Melora continues, a smile in her voice. “There have been multiple Clay families before yours, and there may continue to be ones after. I have yet to discover if my patience is finite, but I am often forgiving. You have yet to stumble to the place where you would need to seek My forgiveness.” Melora warns, the timbre of Her voice lowering briefly before lightening again. “Though I do not fear you will ever reach such a point.”

“The Clays are unique, but they are not the only ones who worship Me. I offer solace to the one of your group that comes from the sea, and you have been generous in helping aid his understanding of Me. But that does not mean I am opposed to your choice of the one who considers fire a tool of his--I understand he was taught in these ways, and we both know that fire is sometimes needed to bring about new growth.”

“You know your true path, Caduceus, but that does not mean you are unable to make your choices. Besides, your pursuit of earthly delights isn't terribly outside of My realm, wouldn't you agree?" Melora teases, a breeze rippling through Caduceus' hair that makes him flush in a way that feels more bodily than before.

"That's--well--" He huffs, finding himself sputtering. Melora’s presence lingers, but gradually ekes away in departure, and Caduceus relaxes into the quiet resonance of meditation, his superficial question of prayer somewhat unanswered, but not unpleasantly. The material plane begins to dawn back upon him, the distant chirping of the morning birds, a heart thrumming underneath his palm, and a growing awareness of a hand upon his own. He blinks his eyes open to a dim light, a pale yellow orb floating some distance above him. Caleb is lying across him, his forehead wrinkled, head tilted curiously, but smiling as he seizes Caduceus' hand tighter.

"Were you _praying_ over me?" Caleb asks, an incredulous laugh sneaking into his voice as he pries Caduceus' hands from his chest, tangling their fingers together and pressing his lips to Caduceus’ in a brief morning greeting. He pulls him to his chest, setting back into the bedding; Caduceus tucks his knees in, keeping his toes from dangling over the end of the bed, his ear squished to Caleb's shoulder.

“I may have been praying...because of you," Caduceus admits, settling upon the right word with his characteristic lax smile. Caleb snorts, his brow still wrinkled, but with fondness as he lays a hand upon Caduceus' cheek.

“Oh? Hopefully all good things?” Caleb teases lightly. Caduceus hums thoughtfully, a rumble of a noise in his chest.

“I asked Her about you,” Caduceus responds with honesty, pausing as he chooses his words. “Being with Her often brings me clarity, those I suppose all gods are still allowed to be vague. She does not appear to...disapprove of you. It seems to be below Her, as I understood it.” Caduceus laughs softly, at himself. “I feel a little embarrassed to have even asked.”

“Don’t. I feel honored to have been a topic of conversation.” Caleb pulls back, the teasing tone gone from his voice, but smiling in affirmation as he pulls back, meeting Caduceus’ pink irises with his blue. He lifts his eyebrows. “I was not expecting to _be_ the topic of conversation between you two, but, honored nonetheless.” He lowers his eyebrows, his mouth moving silently in indecision, but still holding Caduceus’ gaze.

“Do I make you question your faith?” 

Caduceus is not the type to flinch at brazen questions, considering he often hazards asking them himself.

“The relationships I have with you and the Wildmother are both similar and different, in ways I both do and do not understand,” Caduceus answers after a pause to gather his thoughts. “You are of a natural desire--it would almost be a misstep in front of Her, if I were to deny myself you. Not just bodily, but in my heart, too.” Caduceus swallows thickly, diverting his eyes from Caleb’s as he touches his own chest.

“My heart feels certain things for you, so intensely at times, that I wondered if I had begun to stray from Her,” Caduceus admits with a soft laugh. “But She has reminded me that you were put in front of me--or, rather, I was put in front you--to aid my mission and devotion to Her. I cannot, in good faith, determine where you end and She begins.” Caleb leans his forehead against his, and Caduceus closes his eyes, embracing the gentle press of Caleb’s skin, the soft scratch of Caleb’s fingers on his scalp as he combs through his hair, the way his body sinks into the bed beneath them. 

“So, to answer your question,” Caduceus smiles again, blindly leaning in and finding Caleb’s lips with his own. “No, not anymore.”

“That is reassuring, but I am feeling a little self-conscious now,” Caleb laughs softly in response. “At the thought that your goddess knows of me, and watches us in some of the borderline obscene activities we partake in together.”

“It seems to be more of a knowing, and less of watching in a voyeuristic way--I believe there is a ritual we could perform, at the Grove, that would---” Caduceus catches himself, shaking his head at Caleb’s raised eyebrows and the intrigue in his eyes. “I am just a follower of Hers. One whose family is a little more complicated than most of Her other worshippers, but that doesn’t mean I’m any more special than the rest.” Caleb props himself up on his elbow, studying Caduceus quietly, his smile never quite fading.

“You still pique my curiosities, Caduceus Clay.” He comments simply, closing his eyes. After a moment, he huffs out a small breath, and nestles back into the pillows staring up at the ceiling with one arm behind his head, the other slipping around the middle of Caduceus’ chest. Caduceus shifts closer, the bed frame creaking quietly underneath them, his ankles pushing past the edge of the bed with a stretch. 

“You have yet to ask me about my heart,” Caleb says, looking over to Caduceus. “How it feels towards you.”

“I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel forced to divulge--”

“And if I want to tell you?”

“I would not stop you,” Caduceus replies just above a whisper, pupils wide.

“How to explain when I don’t have a deity to help me?” Caleb grins with a small shake of his head. “Take the ritual the Kryn have here in Rosohna, the Light of the Luxon. I do not know how it works, if they split the sky in twain at noon and let the citizens bask in the sun’s light,” Caleb muses, gesturing at the ceiling. “But if it happens while we’re here, I hope it happens slowly overnight, the stars giving way to dawn and the sunrise, so I can watch how the sun falls upon your body and illuminates you in the morning. If I can experience that, I would like to commune with your goddess, and thank Her for it.” He explains, his fingers feather-light on Caduceus’ temple, his cheek, his jawline. His eyes flick up to Caduceus’, gauging the gradual dawning of understanding on his features, and he snuffs out the light above them, postponing morning for just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a minute, aka my friend commissioned me to write perc'ahlia, aka i watched a three hour compilation of them and dalen's closet, aka i am now seven episodes into vox machina proper, but now the cr cast is suggesting (threatening?) that campaign 2 may come back online? im only on episode 67 and only slowed my listening to work on this fic. the woes of being a content creator lmao


	4. sleep like the dead / bedtime stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A regular “bedtime” isn’t quite common amongst his group, so he sometimes has an hour to spare with Fjord, or Beau, or Yasha, company with or without conversation depending on the day they’ve had, before trying to bed down once more.
> 
> While stretching his limbs on a walk through the house tonight, he stumbles upon Caleb. Not up and about like he is, but slumped over what looks to be a book or two in the library, his cheek pressed to the table, eyes closed.

Caduceus has had a rough time sleeping lately. 

Well - no. It’s not that he’s had a rough time sleeping, per se, but a rough time keeping a regular sleeping _schedule_. Back at home, he had long, steady hours of tending to the graveyard and seeing to chores around the house, but an afternoon nap was an institution in the middle of his day. He’s gotten used to being up most hours of the day to a degree, often motivated by levels of adrenaline and anxiety that far outmeasure the amount of energy a cup of tea could ever instill in him. Rest comes easier to him when he meditates, coping not so much with his wandering thoughts, but the newfound speed of them. But sometimes he found himself nodding off when riding atop his moorbounder, staring off into space for a few seconds longer when the others are chatting up a local, stumbling in the seemingly unending darkness of a cave they’re exploring.

And yet, with all the accommodations and the comfort they’ve acquired with the gift of this house, the perpetual darkness of this city makes him grow tired at odd hours, parallel to the concept of dozing off in the warmth of the midday sun. It’s a little disorienting to still wake to darkness, a heaviness in his limbs when lying in his rooftop hammock, a crick in his neck after thinking he would just sit and recline against the base of the tree for a few minutes. Sometimes there are two holes, one big, one small, poked in the darkness by the appearance of the moons. It’s easy to accept, to forgive his body for trying to recoup some energy. But when it happens, later in the day, or at night, he finds himself staying up later in the evening. A regular “bedtime” isn’t quite common amongst his group, so he sometimes has an hour to spare with Fjord, or Beau, or Yasha, company with or without conversation depending on the day they’ve had, before trying to bed down once more.

If asked, he couldn’t tell the time at which he has woken up tonight, but the streets are largely quiet, dotted with an odd straggler or two when he decides to watch for a moment, unable to find sleep again by tossing about in his hammock. 

While stretching his limbs on a walk through the house towards the kitchen, he stumbles upon Caleb. Not up and about like he is, but slumped over what looks to be a book or two in the library, his cheek pressed to the table, eyes closed, a steady rise and fall to his chest and shoulders, a freedom to his breathing that is sometimes restrained to an extent when he’s awake. Caduceus watches that for a minute, smiling, finding himself mellowed by Caleb’s relaxation, Frumpkin curled up in a ball in his lap. He covers the inkpot, extracts the steel-tipped writing utensil from Caleb’s fingers, and takes Caleb by the shoulders, sitting him up against the back of his chair and jostling him gently.

“Caleb--Mister Caleb,” Caduceus clears his throat quietly, whispering Caleb’s name without urgency until his head lolls, eyes blinking slowly and not really seeing. A groan crawls forth from his throat as he stretches, raising his hands above his head, pushing one through his hair before letting them fall limply back to his sides.

“ _Guten_ \--mm,” Caleb squints, one eye first surveying the spread of papers in front of him, then the darkness outside the nearby window, the lamp next to him burning low. The eye closes when he yawns silently, swallowing. “Evening.”

“Hey,” Caduceus smiles. He looks at the open book on the table, next to the one Caleb had been writing in, and back to the echo of ink on Caleb’s cheek, a patch of backwards letters and runes amongst his fair yet weathered skin. “Looks like we found a book that can put you to sleep, huh?”

“Oh, even the best ones can get a bit dry at times,” Caleb says, muffling another yawn with his hand. “I’m sure I will catch a second wind.”

“Mister Caleb, I know you know what time it is,” Caduceus comments.

“ _Ja_ , I do,” Caleb responds, meeting his gaze. “And yet you are awake as well, Mister Clay.”

“I put myself to sleep a little too soon after dinner,” Caduceus admits. “I was coming down to make a cup of tea. Let me make a cup for you, too.”

“No, I promise, I’ll just be up for another hour--”

Caduceus puts his hands on Caleb’s cheeks, holding his stare, smiling with the slightest arch in his brow. Caleb stares back, his mouth a firm line.

“I could do this all night,” Caleb murmurs quietly and Caduceus only continues to smile.

“I look forward to your demonstration,” He counters as he perches atop the table, looking into Caleb’s eyes, lifting a hand to smooth a stray lock of ginger hair before pressing it back to his cheek, his thumb grazing Caleb’s cheekbone. He doesn’t mean to search Caleb’s eyes, bright for the hour, blue irises turned closer to olive by the light of the dying oil, but he catches a glimpse of weariness that goes beyond the normal kind of tired. He knows a little about Caleb, about what haunts him, but this isn’t where he means to tread; not without express permission. It almost makes him pull back, but when he thinks of it, Caleb finally relents, turning and pressing his face into Caduceus’ wide palm, smiling against his skin, leaving a smear of moisture from his lips behind when he pulls away.

“You are a bane upon my willpower,” Caleb sighs, setting Frumpkin on the ground, who stretches, and stands up from his chair. “This tea better help me sleep like the dead, if it’s coming from you.”

“Oh, this is just chamomile, nothing special,” Caduceus cracks a grin. “But I hope it still helps. Go on, I still need to put the kettle on--I’ll bring a cup to your room when it’s ready.”

Caleb wakes the next morning feeling rested, though it of course is still dark. He finds the sconce upon the wall, lights it, and begins to dress. With the light, he catches sight of a teacup filled with pale liquid by his bedside, tea leaves sitting at the bottom, and recalls the events of the past night--he must have fallen asleep sooner than he expected. Smiling, he picks up the teacup, warms it with his fingertip, and downs the liquid--it’s still tasty, though he hopes it won’t make him too drowsy for the day.

When he gets to the kitchen, Jester perks up, asking him if he has gotten a magic tattoo overnight. Caduceus begins laughing to himself with a plate in hand, a memory slowly dawning across his features, and Caleb, eyebrow raised, goes to find a mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> closing this out with what i can only imagine is a common trope in clayleb fics - even so, i still think it's pretty cute! i don't have any other xhorhaus ideas at the moment, but i do hope to put out some more clayleb fic in the future. :') thanks all for reading!


End file.
